


'Twas the Night Before Mercenary Day

by incognitotoro



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incognitotoro/pseuds/incognitotoro
Summary: Rhys comes home after a long day at work to find that he's going to celebrate Mercenary Day, whether he likes it or not.
Relationships: Fiona/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	'Twas the Night Before Mercenary Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick christmassy one shot for my OTP. Happy Holidays everybody!

Rhys felt the tiredness in his bones as he trudged back up to his apartment, dragging him down as if he was in double gravity. It had been an absurdly long week. He had slept in his office a few times before, too engrossed in the work to call it a night, but right now he hadn’t been home in -he mentally tallied up the nights- three days. He shook his head distractedly as he remembered the promise he’d made to Fiona, Sasha and Gortys about not working too hard. Fiona and Sasha knew better than to believe a promise like that from him, but Gortys, with her adorable, robot equivalent of puppy dog eyes… Since she’d decided to hang around and help him rebuild Atlas he’d got worse and worse at saying no to her. It wasn’t a very good quality for a CEO, not even having the strength of will to resist the deceptively persuasive, chirpy charms of one tiny little robot. Of course _he_ knew that she was actually a giant, vault monster-killing badass, but this didn’t translate particularly well to the people who hadn’t seen Gortys in all her massive, finger-gunning glory. He didn’t want anything close to Jack’s reign of terror, but he’d like to avoid being labelled as a soft touch if he could help it.

He hadn’t even realised it was nearly Mercenary Day until Gortys and Loaderbot had burst into his office yesterday, the two of them decked out head to toe in tinsel and sparkly, yet chillingly accurate gun-shaped ornaments. They weren’t even on Pandora, but somehow Fiona had got it into her head that he should celebrate their weird holidays regardless, something about not forgetting where he’d come from, and she’d managed to convince the robots to enforce the tradition in her absence. Of course he’d remind her that he wasn’t actually _from_ Pandora until he was blue in the face, but to no avail, she was something of a force of nature when she’d set her mind on something. He felt his lip tug into a smile, despite the fatigue that still weighed him down.

It had been too long since he’d seen her. Their relationship –if you could call it that- had become more and more sporadic as he had thrown himself into rebuilding Atlas, and she had thrown herself into vault hunting, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss her. How long had it been anyway? The last time he’d seen her was at a reunion of sorts back on Pandora, but they hadn’t managed to get a single moment alone, so he wasn’t sure if that counted. Not for lack of trying of course, he’d chided and waggled eyebrows at her all evening and got nothing but an eye roll in response. Sasha was a terrible influence though, and she always did get mean(er) when she’d been drinking. While he was long past actually being hurt by it, it would have been nice to steal away together, if only for a few minutes. He finally reached his apartment, unlocked the door and stepped inside- and nearly jumped out of his skin to find that it wasn’t empty.

The place was in chaos, wrapping paper and decorations strewn everywhere and his painstakingly arranged furniture shoved aside to make room for a rather shabby looking tree. And in the middle of it all; Fiona, staring wide-eyed at him like a cat that had been caught two seconds away from breaking something expensive.

“What the-”

“Um, surprise?” she said weakly, still managing an entirely unrepentant grin.

“What- what is happening?”

“Mercenary Day!” she said brightly, gesturing at the mess.

“For the thousandth time, Fiona-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve made it _painfully_ clear that you’re not from Pandora, as if it wasn't obvious. But that shithole made you, and you shouldn’t forget it.” she said it with such easy confidence that for a split second he forgot why he was annoyed. At some point she had wound a threadbare string of tinsel around her hat, and despite the fact that she looked patently ridiculous, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection for her.

“Wow, didn’t expect such sentimentality from you, Fi,” he said dryly.

“What can I say?” she said, grinning, “The holidays bring it out in me.”

“Uhuh,” Rhys rolled his eyes at her and picked his way tentatively through the festive detritus towards the kitchen, pulling out the large bottle of disgusting liquor that he wouldn’t touch with a bargepole unless she was here. He waved it questioningly in Fiona’s direction, but she only sniggered without a hint of guilt, putting her feet up on his nice, clean coffee table.

“Way ahead of you,” she said, brandishing a half-full glass of the vile stuff. He scowled half-heartedly at her.

“Jeez, you can take the girl out of Pandora…”

“What? It’s not Mercenary Day if you’re sober.”

“It’s not Mercenary Day at all!”

“Well, tomorrow is-”

“Oh, just shut up, Fi,”

He set the bottle down and crossed the room purposefully, and she watched him like a hawk the whole time, pale eyes flickering in the brash, flashing lights strung up around the tree. She watched him like someone all too used to having to watch her back, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think it was suspicion in those eyes. But he did know better, and when he reached her he didn’t even have to say anything, she just rose to meet him. Their lips finally met and Rhys wondered, like he did every time, why they didn’t do this _all_ the time. Her lips were like satin, and she let out a soft, contented noise which did his ego a world of good. Suddenly all their bickering and bullshit fell away and all that mattered was the sensation of her body pressed up against his. The kiss was achingly slow, betraying a tenderness he knew that neither of them were eager to display in public.

When they finally broke apart, he breathed a long, low sigh of relief. He’d wanted to be annoyed at her, he really had, but now she was here again he couldn’t help it, his annoyance simply evaporated.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

“Me too,” she whispered into his neck.

They stood like that for a moment longer, Rhys resting his chin on the top of her head, his arms still wound around her as he relished the all too rare feeling of her in his arms. It was her that pulled away, craning her neck to look at him with one eyebrow cocked sardonically.

“You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks, what happened to the sentimentality?” he muttered in mock irritation.

“I call it as I see it.” she shrugged. “My sentimentality only extends to not making fun of that teeny little girlish squeak you made when you came in.”

“Hey, I was surprised.”

“Yeah, sure,” she giggled. He never could get used to the sound of her giggling, it always seemed so strange in her rough, usually sarcastic voice.

“Well what would you do if you found someone in your apartment you thought was empty?”

“Shoot them.” She said without a second of hesitation. “Anyway, I’m hardly a stranger.”

Her lip was curled in that little half-smile he loved so much, and suddenly his exhaustion was forgotten.

“No, you are not,” he growled, hoisting her up without warning. She let out a surprised squawk, but immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, linking her ankles behind his back and bending her head down to kiss his neck, as he carried her over to the bedroom. At least, he had intended to get to the bedroom, but she bit down hard just under his jaw, and he set her down clumsily on the kitchen counter.

“Shit, Fi,” he muttered, half-worried that she might have actually drawn blood, but she pulled him closer with her legs, the heels of her boots digging into his ass.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she said breathlessly, grabbing his jaw and pulling his lips to hers again. She kissed him like it was her last day on earth, all sloppy urgency and grating teeth, and he responded in kind, though he never could quite shake the guilty feeling that he should be being more romantic. He should be wining and dining her or something, truly making the most of their time together, not just plonking her down on the counter two feet away from a dirty coffee mug from god knows how long ago.

Fiona didn’t seem to mind though, she moaned and tightened her hand in his hair, pulling away from the kiss so that she could run her tongue over the tattoos on his neck. This time he moaned, low and rough, and he felt her grin as she gently nipped at his neck. She pushed his jacket over his shoulders and he mirrored her, though her jacket was as usual, far more complicated, all asymmetric straps and pointless buttons. He huffed in frustration and she laughed, abandoning his shirt buttons to shrug off her jacket, helpfully undoing the straps and even starting to shimmy out of the thick leggings she wore. His shirt flapped open and as her threw her coat aside he knocked the coffee mug onto the floor, but he didn’t care. She kicked off her boots and he pulled off her leggings, exposing her pale, smooth legs, dusted with scars from a thousand skirmishes he’d probably never hear about.

He made a show of looking her up and down, his eyes finally settling on her navy blue panties, far more lacy and well, pretty than he was used to. She generally tended towards fairly practical underwear, with a few notable and extremely welcome exceptions, and he ran his hand slowly up her thigh until his fingers only just brushed the edge of the dark lace.

“These are nice,” he murmured, keeping eye contact and relishing the way her eyes darkened as he spoke, “Did you wear them just for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, but the quiet gasp she made as he hooked a finger inside the waistband gave her away.

“Oh?” he said, keeping his voice low as he traced the edge of the panties with his robot hand, knowing that the cool metal would make her do that adorable shivery thing she did when she was overwrought. She did, thighs clenching and shoulders rolling as she threw her head back, making the cupboard behind her rattle slightly.

“Fuck…”

The sound of her voice went straight to his dick, rich and raw and overwrought, and the sight of her there, half-undressed on his kitchen counter was almost enough to end this whole night prematurely. He pulled her closer so that she could feel his arousal through the thin fabric of those gorgeous panties, claiming her lips once again in a searing kiss. She rolled her hips, grinding her centre against him, and he let out a low groan, shuddering uncontrollably as he held onto the countertop to steady himself.

His patience gave out, and he pulled away, eliciting a disappointed whimper from her, which turned into shocked gasp when he lowered his face abruptly, pressing his tongue firmly to her clit over the lace. She scrabbled at his back, clenching her fist over the collar of his shirt and bucking slightly as he continued his slow, gentle exploration, licking and sucking at her panties until he could taste her arousal. When he finally wrenched himself away, he found her eyes just fluttering open, as if she had been enjoying a particularly diverting dream.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, and the smile that spread across her face was like the rising sun.

“Not so bad for Pandoran scum?”

“That’s not what I-”

“Yeah, I know, you’re so _easy_ , Rhys,”

“God, you’re _impossible_.” He huffed, but she only smiled at him, and for a moment the look on her face was so astonishingly _open_ , so unfettered by stress or sarcasm, that he cupped her face in his hands again and kissed her with such fervour that he felt almost lightheaded.

Fiona reached down and began to fiddle with his belt, finally pulling it free and palming him over his pants. He hissed in response, daring to nibble at her bottom lip, swiping his tongue over it as she finally thrust her hand into his boxers. He let out a small whimper that she appeared deeply satisfied by, and she began to pump him with one hand while she pushed his pants down with the other.

“Oh my god, Fi,”

“I know,”

“Fuck-”

“I know,”

He tore at her panties, dragging them down her thighs as she shuffled to rid herself of them. He grabbed her ass and pulled her towards him, sliding her over the cold metal countertop until she could wrap her legs around him and guide him towards her entrance. The counter was too high, so she slipped off, legs still curled tight around his waist and he spun around to press her into the wall, using his weight to pin her there while he stroked himself, aligning his cock just so-

He slipped inside her with surprising gentleness, and for a moment they simply looked at each other, eyes wide as they both adjusted to the sudden intensity of the sensation. Then she rolled her hips and he was lost. She was perfect, all desperate, breathy moans and intoxicating heat, and within just a few minutes she screamed, burying her head in the crook of his neck. He felt her walls flutter around him, the shuddering breaths on his neck and the wanton, frantic whines that set him aflame. He quickened his pace, feeling his own release rapidly approaching, the tension building, building until with a shout and a loud, drawn out moan, he was spent.

He didn’t know how long it was until they came to their senses, but he felt her relax in his arms and suddenly he felt as if his body was made of lead. He took a few shaky steps towards the sofa and collapsed, reaching for a box of tissues that was lying on the floor, having apparently been displaced at some point during Fiona’s impromptu decorating session.

She dropped down next to him heavily, leaning up to press a slow, languid kiss to the underside of his jaw. Even after all that, the feeling still sent a little shiver of arousal through him.

“Hi,” she whispered after a few minutes of contented silence, startling a chuckle out of him.

“Hi,” he kissed the top of her head and exhaled heavily. “So, how long are you here for?”

“Just a few days,”

“Seriously?”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“No, don’t be sorry,” he sighed, “I just-”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Still worth it,” he said with a small grin.

“Merry Mercenary Day,” she said, giving him a nudge in the side.

“Don’t remind me, I had almost forgotten what you’ve done to my apartment.”

She stood up, still clad only in the long dress shirt that she had been wearing before. It only just skimmed the top of her thighs, and the look on her face was sin incarnate. She held her hand out, and he was strangely enthralled for a second with her bright yellow nail polish, reflecting the flashing festive lights.

“Want to keep on forgetting?”

He smiled tiredly, making a show of looking around the mess she had made of his place.

“I don’t know, that’s a tall order,”

“Challenge accepted,” she purred, smiling widely and yanking him up by the wrist.

It might only have been a small island of passion in the endless ocean of stress and worry that his life had become, but it was _their_ island. And Rhys hated to admit it, but right now Mercenary Day was actually turning out to be quite a lot of fun.


End file.
